Ludger listened, stone-faced, while Arslan painted the picture. A grand stage in the capital, banners fluttering, nobles gossiping in silk, and children shoved out like trained dogs to perform tricks for applause. Sword swings, fireballs, morized speeches about history—an entire festival built on the fragile egos of families with too much money.
“Great,” Ludger thought. “So it’s a talent show, but with blood and politics. Nothing says ‘responsible parenting’ like tossing your heirs into an arena so strangers can decide if you’re worthy of friendship.”
Arslan’s voice carried on, earnest for once. “…they’ll rember the ones who stand out, the ones who win allies, even the ones who heal at the right ti. A good showing can change everything.”
“And a bad one ruins your family’s Yelp rating for five years,” Ludger muttered under his breath.
Arslan didn’t hear—or pretended not to.
“Fantastic,” he thought. “Everyone else gets to show off their magic, their swords, their brilliant futures. ? I get to clap politely from the sidelines until sobody breaks an arm, then swoop in like a dieval school nurse. Truly, my talents are limitless.”
He sighed, pressing fingers to his temple like a man three decades older than his body. “At least,” he admitted to himself, “it’s a stage. A chance to see the world. To watch nobles play at war and learn how they actually move their pieces. And if the right people notice… well, there are worse ways to start building influence.”
Arslan’s grin returned, bright and careless, as if he hadn’t just dragged his son into a political circus. “You’ll do fine,” he said. “Maybe even better than fine.”
Ludger didn’t bother correcting him. He was already calculating. If nobles wanted a show, then he’d give them one. Not just Viola, not just the Torvares family—him. Quietly, efficiently, with the sa patience he stacked coins at night.
“Fine,” he thought. A slow smirk tugged at his lips, one Arslan didn’t catch.
“Every circus needs a ringmaster,” Ludger thought. “Might as well start rehearsing.”
The next morning, Ludger sat cross-legged on his bed, staring at the stack of belongings he could call “packed.” A spare set of clothes, a pouch of coins from healing work, a bundle of herbs tied with string. That was it.
The bag looked even smaller when he cinched it shut.
“Right,” he thought, eyeing it. “One week to the capital, two weeks of noble circus, and another week crawling back here. One month gone, minimum. If nothing goes horribly wrong. Which, statistically speaking, ans sothing will absolutely go horribly wrong.”
His eyes drifted to the door, beyond it the kitchen where Elaine was humming while kneading dough. Her voice was soft, but there was a tightness in it. She had agreed—actually agreed—to let him go. But agreent wasn’t the sa as acceptance, and he knew it.
“One month without ,” Ludger mused. “How’s she going to handle that? Badly. Very badly. Terribly, obsessively badly.” He rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. “When I get back, I might not find my mother—I might find a dragon in human skin. And then I’ll have to put points into therapy just to keep her from barricading in the house.”
The thought made him smirk. Job Unlocked: Psychiatrist. Skill: [Emotional Stabilization Lv. 1]. Effect: Reduces maternal possessiveness by 5%.
“Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “That’d be nice. Sha that the system doesn’t reward common sense.”
Still, the idea clung to him. Elaine’s loneliness had been palpable even before he ntioned leaving. Her stand aura was a beast pacing inside her, clawing at the walls of her ribs. If she let it out full force while he was gone, the tavern staff might resign in a week. Or worse, she might end up in the capital herself, dragging him ho in the middle of the arena.
He tightened the straps of his bag, forcing his focus back. “One month. Grow, learn, heal, survive the circus. And when I co back… figure out how to keep her from cracking wide open.”
The bag sagged at his side, heavier than it had any right to be.
“Great,” he thought. “Other kids get swords and fireballs. I get family therapy side quests.”
Elaine was waiting by the door when he ca down with the little travel bag slung over his shoulder. She had braided her hair too neatly for it to be casual, tied her apron strings three tis too tight, and stood in the fra like she could block the road with sheer willpower. For a mont, Ludger wondered if she might actually do it—that the deal she’d made yesterday would dissolve in the space of one heartbeat and a single unleashed stand aura.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she smiled. The kind of smile that wavered at the corners, already shiny with unshed tears. “You’ve packed?”
“Yeah,” Ludger said, trying to sound casual. “Everything I need for a month.”
Her lips pressed together. A month. Saying it out loud made it heavier, as if the word itself was a weight she couldn’t quite carry. She stepped forward, brushing an invisible speck of dust off his shoulder. Her hands lingered there, trembling just enough that even a child could feel it.
When the door finally opened and the sunlight spilled in, she broke.
Not in screams or in rage, not in the terrifying stand-born aura that froze adventurers where they stood. No—this ti it was tears, quiet at first and then sudden, spilling hot and fast down her cheeks as she pulled him into her arms. Her grip locked around him like iron bands, strong enough that his bones gave a protesting creak.
“Mom—air—” he wheezed, his face smothered in the familiar scent of flour, herbs, and woodsmoke.
“Just… let hold you,” Elaine whispered, voice breaking, “just one more mont.”
He did. Because sarcasm was free, but so things weren’t ant to be joked about.
When she finally let go, her eyes were red, but her smile had steadied into sothing fiercer. “One month,” she said, “and then you co ho. That’s the deal.”
“One month,” he agreed.
As Arslan’s voice called from the road, urging him to hurry, Ludger adjusted the bag on his shoulder and stepped out into the light. Behind him, Elaine lingered in the doorway, hands clasped tight as if holding herself together piece by piece.
For a flicker of a second, regret cut through him sharp and clean. If only I’d saved faster. If only I’d already bought that tavern, given her sothing to busy herself with instead of counting the days until I returned.
But not everything in life could be that convenient.
“Later,” he promised himself silently. “First I grow. Then I make sure she never has to cry like that again.”
And with that, Ludger walked toward the waiting cart, bones still aching faintly from her hug, and the road to the capital yawning wide ahead of him.
A couple of hours later, they reached their destination. Torvares estate. Bigger than anything Ludger had slept in—two floors of carved stone, wide windows, banners snapping in the wind like smug reminders of old blood.
Waiting in the front yard was Viola, tapping her boot against the gravel with all the patience of a boiling kettle. Beside her stood two armored guards in polished steel, their spears resting in easy grips, and just behind them two maids—one with the poise of soone who’d been running households for decades, the other hardly older than Viola herself, eyes darting with curiosity and nerves.
“Took you long enough,” Viola called the mont she spotted them, voice sharp enough to cut through the morning air. Her chin tilted up in practiced disdain, but there was color in her cheeks, the kind that ca from excitent rather than anger.
Arslan leaned casually against the cart’s side and grinned. “Patience, Vi. Not everyone can leap out of bed ready for battle. So of us need breakfast first.”
“I was ready before dawn,” she shot back, crossing her arms.
“Of course you were,” he said, eyes twinkling. Then he added, as though it had just occurred to him, “By the way, happy birthday. Ten’s a fine age. Didn’t think to ntion it yesterday, but, well—you were busy being impatient then too.”
Viola’s lips twitched, half-smile, half-smirk, before she covered it with another huff.
Ludger, climbing down from the cart, watched her entourage with sharp eyes. Guards, maids, noble estate—it was all theatre, and Viola played the lead role perfectly. He’d known she was reckless, competitive, but this was different. This was her arena before the real one began.
Then movent drew his gaze to the manor doors.
Lord Torvares approached at a asured pace, cane in hand though his steps didn’t falter. His hair was gray, cut short and severe, his eyes steady as stone. Age clung to his fra, but it was the kind that weathered rather than weakened. The guards straightened as he passed, the maids bowed their heads, and even Viola’s voice went quiet for the span of a heartbeat.
Ludger’s thoughts turned, unbidden. A stern patriarch, a noble line, a granddaughter thrown into the spotlight. But no wife at his side, no second shadow in the doorway. Married once? Widower now? Or simply alone by choice? Find out the answer in the next episode of…
The thought lingered as Torvares’s eyes swept over them, settling first on Viola with pride, then on Arslan’s party, and finally, curiously, on Ludger himself.
And in that brief silence, Ludger couldn’t help but wonder: what story had been cut short here, for this man to stand alone at the head of his family?
Lord Torvares stopped before them, cane planted firmly in the gravel. His gaze swept over Arslan’s party with the practiced sharpness of a commander inspecting troops. Selene straightened under it, Harold scratched the back of his head and tried to look serious, Aleia gave the faintest of nods, and Cor adjusted his spectacles as if facts alone could deflect scrutiny.
Then the old man’s eyes landed on Ludger.
For a heartbeat, they narrowed—confused, weighing. “The boy,” he said slowly. “I had requested him. Yet I was not told he would co.”
The air felt heavier, and even Viola leaned forward, curious at the edge in her grandfather’s voice.
Arslan scratched his neck, grinning sheepishly. “Well, my lord, you did ask. But, uh, there were… complications.”
“Complications?” Torvares’s gaze did not leave Ludger. It was not unkind, but it had the weight of iron. “I asked for you, boy, and I heard nothing back. Was that reluctance yours?”
Ludger t his stare without flinching, though his seven-year-old body didn’t exactly project intimidation. “No,” he said, voice steady. “It was my mother’s.”
Torvares’s brows rose.
“She’s stronger than the rest of us combined when she decides sothing,” Ludger continued. “Her word… carries weight. More than it should, maybe not. It took ti to convince her to let go. That’s why you didn’t hear sooner.”
The silence stretched for a beat, and Ludger could feel Arslan shifting behind him, nervous sweat practically visible.
But then Torvares nodded once, the faintest curve tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Elaine.” He said the na like it carried a mory, then exhaled. “Yes. That explains it. A woman who will fight the world itself for what she loves. I can respect that, though it makes diplomacy… interesting.”
He tapped his cane once against the stone, sharp as a gavel. It seed that Arslan had spoke a lot about her as well. “Very well. You are here now. And your mother has allowed it.” His gaze softened, just a shade. “That ans she has accepted—within reason—that you are ready to step beyond her shadow.”
Ludger inclined his head, playing polite even as his thoughts ticked. ‘Within reason’… which ans she’ll still co down on like a storm if I push too far. But at least the door’s open.
“Good,” Torvares said. “Then let us not waste any more ti. The capital waits, and the world will be watching.”
He turned, cane striking rhythm into the stone path as the household began to move around him—guards adjusting packs, the younger maid scurrying after Viola, the older one issuing quiet instructions.
Behind them, Viola smirked at Ludger, a competitive gleam in her eyes. “So you finally grew a spine against your mother, huh? Took you long enough.”
“Spine’s intact,” Ludger muttered back. “Ribs are questionable.”
The image of Elaine’s bone-crushing hug still lingered in his mory, along with the knowledge that she had let him go—for now.
And as they followed Lord Torvares toward the waiting carriages, Ludger couldn’t help but wonder whether “within reason” would truly be enough to hold her back.
The yard stilled when Lord Torvares turned his gaze toward Viola. She stood straight, chin high, eager for approval and too proud to show nerves. The old man’s expression softened by a fraction—barely enough to notice, unless you were watching for it.
“Viola,” he said, his voice carrying the kind of weight that left no room for argunt, “do not work yourself to the bone. You have nothing to prove by throwing away your health. And above all—do not do anything reckless.”
For a heartbeat, Viola’s lips pressed together like she wanted to protest. Then she caught his eyes—hard stone under calm water—and nodded. “Yes, Grandfather.”
He didn’t look at the others. Didn’t speak to them. But when his gaze swept across the guards, the elder maid, and even the young one still fidgeting with Viola’s bag strap, it was enough. Steel backs stiffened. Palms grew clammy. A bead of sweat rolled down the neck of a man who’d faced brigands without blinking.
No words were needed. His eyes alone promised ruin if anything happened to Viola under their watch.
Arslan’s party wasn’t spared either. Selene straightened like she’d been called to attention, Harold swallowed audibly, Aleia broke her usual smirk for a rare mont of seriousness, and even Cor adjusted his collar as if under scrutiny in a lecture hall. Arslan himself? He gave his usual lopsided grin, but the twitch in his temple betrayed him.
Ludger, standing just behind his father, watched all of it with quiet calculation. So that’s how you command a room, he thought. Not with volu. Not with threats. Just with presence. A glance heavy enough to crush the air out of people.
And then Torvares turned back toward the carriages, cane clicking once against the stone as if to declare the mont finished. The household sprang into motion instantly, like soldiers after a command.
Ludger adjusted the strap of his small bag and followed. The weight of Elaine’s hug still lingered on his bones, but here, under the shadow of Lord Torvares’s gaze, he realized sothing new: Viola’s recklessness wasn’t the only danger. The expectations around her—the pressure carved into the very air—might prove sharper than any blade in the arena.
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